Shattered Glass: A Series Of Drabbles
by AC Thorn
Summary: Snippets at the lives, thoughts, and dreams of several different Harry Potter characters. Written for the 100 Days, 100 Drabbles Challenge. R&R.
1. New

**New

* * *

**

Looking at his glasses—new, repaired, with no more cracks shining through the surface of the glass—made him feel some sort of accomplishment. After all, hadn't he been the one worrying about failing at Hogwarts just the previous year? Now, it was an achieved goal. He was able to do _magic_. He could do real magic, not just the phony kind one would see at a Muggle's show. It made him feel warm inside, and no matter how hard he tried to hide it, he couldn't mask the fact that he was positively radiant.

Because he had fixed his glasses on his own, without Hermione whispering directions at him, or Arthur Weasley snatching them from him and fixing them before he could even try. It was the first time, _ever_, and now they looked brand new. Actually, they seemed _better_ than new. And finally, he was not helpless Harry Potter, the one that needed constant security, but he was _a wizard_. He was not _the wizard_, he was _a wizard_—he was like everyone else. He didn't have to do fancy tricks to be special.

No matter how many times he repeated this in his head, he couldn't seem to grasp it. Finally, he could be just like Ron and Hermione. He wouldn't stick out like a sore thumb, because he had just done _ordinary_ magic, but _magic_ nonetheless. This time, it didn't take Voldemort, or Tom Riddle, or anyone but himself for the magic to appear.

Maybe Harry Potter could start fresh. He would no longer be recognized as the Chosen One, but instead he would be recognized as a skilled wizard.

_Nononono—stupidstupidstupid—are you crazy?_ He could hear his jumbled thoughts reprimanding him for letting such an idea soak into his brain, but he still couldn't wipe the notion from his mind.

Because, after all, Harry Potter still wanted to start over.

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**A/N: **_Well, I still don't know what I'm getting myself into, with this one-hundred drabbles thing, but I plan to have fun with it. Oh, and the word count for this, excluding Author's Notes, was __**316 words**_**. **_Please review, and I hope you enjoyed._


	2. Broken

**Broken

* * *

**

He recalled, faintly, his mother telling him that strength lasted throughout the generations, a bond of blood and will and trust. And he believed that, honestly, with all of his heart, but could the "bond of blood" really contain one's heart? He believed so, until he realized what the heart was really capable of.

She was moderately pretty, he admitted, but she was pretty nonetheless. Soft auburn curls, warm eyes…what was not to love? Well—at first, it was just lust. Even he had to acknowledge that fact. He was a teenage boy and she was beautiful woman, so he only listened to his instincts.

But then, his instincts were overrun by his heart, but both his instincts and his heart were leading him to the same place: Ginny. Now, he wasn't noticing the way her hair swayed in the breeze and the exact shade of her eyes, but _now_ he was noticing how she always seemed to hide her hair, as if self-conscious, and how her brown eyes sparkled while she laughed. Suddenly, it didn't matter if she looked good or not in the morning. The only thing that mattered was whether or not she was happy.

But she never looked completely happy, and he wanted to fix that. He wanted to, but how? Which was more important, the bond between father and son or the bond between lover and loved one? He knew that loving her would ruin his fragile relationship with his father, but he also knew that _ruining_ his nonexistent relationship with her would burn him from the inside.

Finally, he decided that since his father didn't care about him, he didn't have to care about his father.

By that time, however, it was too late. He was the Dark Lord's puppet now, and it would have to stay that way. No matter how many times he daydreamed about her, no matter how much he wished for her to be his, he knew it wouldn't happen. If the idea ever had any hope, it had none now. And he wanted to hate his father for dragging him into this, but he _couldn't_, because he had already broken one of his two strongest bonds. In reality, he had pulled away from her, and not the other way around.

Draco Malfoy didn't want any more bonds to be broken, useless.

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**A/N: **_Well. I probably won't do romance too much, but this is one of those exceptions. The pairing was Ginny/Draco, if that isn't painfully obvious enough. The word count for this, excluding Author's Notes and the title, is __**392 words.**__ I hope you enjoyed, and, well, review._


	3. Hope

**Hope

* * *

**

Was it foolish of him to think that they would survive? Perhaps it was. It didn't seem so ludicrous at the moment, but then again, he hadn't really been thinking just then. He was thrown into a world of emotions, and there was nothing, no one, to keep him grounded. Maybe that's why he let his fantasies get the better of him.

_They'll survive,_ he had told himself, foolishly. _They'll be perfectly fine—maybe even better._

It was this type of deluded hope that poisoned his mind, nearly driving him to the point of madness. He had hoped, desperately, that they were going to be okay and that he would be back with them in a short amount of time. It came as a staggering shock when he was told of what happened, and even then he refused to believe it until he saw it for sure.

He spent a while preparing himself for pain, and a lot of it, but when he did see them, he felt nothing. He turned numb, blocking everything off. It only lasted for the moment, but it prevented anything from disturbing his moment with his parents. And, that night, Neville made a vow. A vow to never hope again, because what good did hoping do him?

That isn't to say he stuck to this vow. How could he, with a second war approaching? The others would never forgive him, were he to go pessimistic on them.

Still, there was a part of him that never hoped, that was lost in desolation, and he tried his best to keep that side of him tamed by basking in the light of hope—if there even was such a thing.

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**A/N: **_I hope you enjoyed this drabble, and please do review. The word count for this, excluding Author's Notes is __**283 words**__._


	4. Quills

**Quills

* * *

**

Many times she found herself wondering about the quirks of the magical world. She was born a Muggle, had learned the Muggle ways, and then found herself thrust into a world where _Muggles_ were the lesser beings. Somehow it didn't make sense.

That isn't to say she didn't like it, though. She loved magic, loved it with her entire being. It made her feel different, and it made some of the pains of the Muggle world _so_ much more bearable.

But she was still disoriented, even though it had been years since she first discovered her magic. All of these new things, all at once—she couldn't take it. So she resorted to the one thing she was best at: learning. At first this habit had kept her away from potential friends, but she thought it was worth it. If she learned more, she would be a witch, not just some _Muggle_. It made perfect sense to her. And so she studied, she studied hard, and eventually she surpassed the _purebloods_, the _real_ wizards and witches, and then she thought that perhaps blood didn't matter.

But Hermione was made of Muggle blood, was she not? No matter how much silken enchantment was woven into her veins, she was still ninety-nine percent Muggle. She would always retain some odd Muggle quirks, and she would always be a simple girl at heart, able to get along without magic.

And this was what she thought as she stared at the quill—the quill that was lying simply on its side, nestled against the wood of her desk. She had never been good with quills, especially not at first, and she figured that if she used them at home as well as at Hogwarts she would be able to get used to them.

But now…her upper lip curled in distaste. She looked down at her ruined essay, filled with blobs of stray ink, and sighed.

Cautious of her Muggle roots, Hermione disregarded the quill and picked up a pen, a smile curving her lips as she was greeted with the childhood familiarity.

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**A/N: **_Well. I hope you enjoyed and review. The total for this was __**341 words**__._


	5. Doorway

**Doorway

* * *

**

No matter what, there would always be _something_ on the other side of a doorway, any doorway. It was supposed to be like that, and he guessed that it _was_ like that. But normally, stepping through a doorway was easy, simple. Some people crossed doorways in the spectrum of their lives that were figurative, not literal, and even then they could see something on the other side, without any doubts.

It wasn't that way for this doorway—if it could even be called that. No, this doorway didn't _have_ another side—that he knew of. He wasn't dead, not yet, but he could feel his essence ripping away from his body, slowly, painfully. But he wasn't dead, not yet. He wouldn't allow it.

So where _did_ this doorway lead, then? He had fallen through easily enough, but he hadn't yet gotten anywhere. It felt like he was floating, rather, floating away from one world and entering another. The problem was that he hadn't yet _entered_ that other world.

But he didn't want to die. No, not yet. He had more to live for, more to fight for…he couldn't just throw it all away, no matter how horrible it all was. He would _not_ take the coward's way out.

With a grim satisfaction, he felt himself being pushed away from this new world, but he didn't feel himself returning to _his_ world, either.

_No!_ he screamed in his mind. _Take me back, they'll be waiting, you can't just leave me here!_ He didn't know who he was shouting at, but it wasn't working.

_James would've kept fighting,_ he thought, surprised by the amount of resentment in that statement alone.

_James_.

Oh, he was being selfish, he knew that, but what else could he do? He didn't want to stay floating forever, and as much as he loved Harry, more of his loved ones were dead than alive.

So Sirius Black welcomed death with open arms, finally crossing the unknown doorway into his own afterlife.

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**A/N: **_The word count for this is __**333 words**__. I hope you enjoyed, and please do review._


	6. Breathless

**Breathless

* * *

**

The first time Lucius Malfoy made Amortentia, he wasn't exactly sure what to expect. After all, how was _Amortentia_, the strongest _love potion_, important to him in any way? Throughout the entire process he was whining to his partner, watching with envy as other students got it perfectly—and he, he kept on mixing up ingredients and spilling the different concoctions. His partner, a thick-headed and pudgy-fingered boy, did not help him in the slightest. If anything, he made it all worse.

But he had made Amortentia after much struggling, and it was still just as good as everyone else's love potions. He admitted, a little embarrassedly, that it was a pretty potion, being a silken, creamy white. But when the teacher asked him to lean over and _sniff_ the potion, he was more than hesitant.

_Sniff it?_ he thought incredulously. _What are we, animals?_

Eventually, though, he did smell the potion, and with an air of contempt, he thought that it smelt like nothing—absolutely _nothing_. He was stuck with nothing while everyone else chatted dreamily about the smell of freshly cut grass or their current infatuation or some absurd thing.

Needless to say, he was not happy when he was ordered to make the potion once more. This time, he spent less time messing up the potion and more time glaring at it, but in the end it was still a milky white. And as he leaned over just a little bit to catch a whiff of the potion, he was surprised by the gentle, wafting smell that the potion produced. He wasn't exactly sure what the scent was, but he liked it…he liked it a lot.

And when he made Amortentia for the third time, he was nearly willing to do so. He made it with ease, as he had the recipe drilled into his brain, and he leaned in so close to the potion that his nose skimmed the white surface. The scent that greeted him was nearly the same as last time, though this time it was accented and strengthened to the point where it seemed icily sweet. The smell left him utterly perplexed, and no matter how many times he tried to get his thoughts to stray, he was stuck on that one, unimportant _odor_.

When Narcissa passed him in the corridor, he'd finally found an owner for the scent that left him breathless.

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**A/N: **_The word count for this is exactly __**400 words**__. I hope you enjoyed and reviewed. The pairing for this is, obviously, Lucius/Narcissa._


	7. Pain

**Pain

* * *

**

She traced patterns on her sheets, eyeing the dismal white of St. Mungo's with no thoughts running across her scattered brain. When she looked up, everything was blurry, and colors were swirling together. It had been that way for a long, long time—longer than she cared to remember, anyhow. There were all these voices…some voices were hectic, others calm, and most just plain out of it. She wondered, briefly, what she, herself, sounded like.

It was hard for her to make sense of what was being said, of course, but she could still make out the tone of voice. It was her only connection to the outside world, these voices, and when they went away, at nighttime, she never felt more alone.

And then there was that sense of longing that nagged her constantly. She thought it was foolish, but she felt as if there was someone _calling_ her, asking her to come to them, and in all honesty, it scared her. Who could, who _would_, be calling her? She had nobody, nobody but the voices that murmured comforting words to her.

And so Alice Longbottom ignored the feeling that lurked in the pit of her stomach, oblivious to the boy that was longing for his mother's touch, oblivious to the simple fact that his pain was their only connection.

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**A/N: **_The word count for this is __**221 words**__, and I hope you enjoyed and review._


	8. Test

**Test

* * *

**

From birth, he had been told that he was a failure and that he would amount to nothing. After a while, even his parents stopped encouraging him and gave in to that fact. Even he had no choice but to believe it, and perhaps _that_ was why he was so surprised when he was taken in by one of the most well-known social cliques in Hogwarts.

Then, he had fallen in love…in love with a blushing, beautiful girl, one he was later able to claim as his wife. And he loved her, truly, he did, but that didn't stop him from sneaking out behind her back with other, more pretentious women. As long as she didn't know, he figured, all would be okay.

Soon after his marriage, however, he was recruited by the Dark Lord himself. At first, it was just a ploy to wheedle information out of the frightened man, but in the end, he found himself of Lord Voldemort's side, waiting on the tyrant's every wish. It was a simple job, yes, but an important one at that. And when it came time for his big act, he was ready, and he held no remorse.

He had failed his friends' test, the simplest test of them all, the test that only required him to be a loyal, trustworthy friend.

When his wife found out about his "midnight expeditions", the only emotion left in her eyes was remorse, but she couldn't leave him, for she knew that he would track her down and she needed the money. He had failed her, as well.

But Peter Pettigrew did not fail the one test that mattered most: Lord Voldemort's test.

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**A/N: **_The word count for this is __**279 words**__._


	9. Drink

**Drink

* * *

**

"Here, just one more drink." He held out the bottle to her, his hand shaking so much that some of the liquid spilled onto her shirt. She disregarded that fact and accepted the drink, a goofy smile widening her lips. It burned her throat, but somehow she couldn't stop. It tasted _right_, not good, but right, like it was what she was supposed to be drinking.

"You s-sure we're s'posed to be doin' this?" she asked blearily, her words slurring and mingling with each other.

"Well," he said, placing his nearly-empty bottle on the floor. "What're we s'posed t'be doin', then?"

"Mm," she mumbled, leaning back as she closed her eyes. "Dunno. I like this stuff. What's it, hm?"

"Firewhiskey," he muttered, taking another swig of the drink. "Makes everythin' better, dunnit?"

"Mm," she murmured again, practically inhaling the bottles of Firewhiskey that he had supplied her.

"My dad hates me," he said suddenly, eyes bright and glossy. "Dunno why."

"Harry won't like me," she responded bluntly, and they both knew exactly what she was talking about. "But I've gotta live with it. So d'you."

After this statement, Ginny Weasley promptly burst into hysterics, and to anyone and everyone's surprise, Draco Malfoy followed suit.

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**A/N: **_Well, I really had no idea what I was supposed to do for this one. So I thought I might as well have thrown in a bit of mild D/G. The word count for this is __**204 words**__._


	10. Anger

**Anger

* * *

**

It was a hard thing to explain, he thought, and sometimes it was better if he didn't explain it at all. It's not like anyone who cared would understand the feeling of disgust that often welled inside of him, and it's not like anyone that _would_ understand cared. He was alone in this battle, he knew that much, and he was losing terribly.

When he was younger, anger was not a common trait of his. He was always calm, cool, collected—never distraught or angry. But now, _now_ was different, so much more different, because there was something to be angry about, something to be distraught about. But he didn't want that, he bet that nobody would want that unless they were keen on self-harm, and he fought against the sickening anger that always found a way to consume him. Because, after all, he was just a monster at heart, and no matter how many times his friends tried to convince him otherwise, he knew for a fact that it was true. It would always be true, for the rest of his life.

His anger was irrational. If he had to be angry about something, he wanted a reason for it, and perhaps that was why he rarely got angry while he was in control. _Control_—that word seemed nearly foreign now. Maybe because it was rarely associated with him, for reasons he could understand. He was nothing more than a beast, some creature, and he had to accept that.

As Remus Lupin tore away from his outer being and let the silver-haired menace roam free, he couldn't help but submit to the anger that was clawing at him from the inside.

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**A/N: **_The word count for this is __**282 words**__. I hope you enjoy and review._


	11. Dreams

**Dreams

* * *

**

Hermione didn't have dreams. Her thoughts were based purely off of logic, and so what room was there for dreaming? Dreaming was highly illogical and therefore she found no use in even _trying _to dream, and perhaps in that thought alone she warded off dreams.

Well, that was her first approach as to why she didn't have dreams.

Then, later on, she would gaze at Harry and Ron simply _goofing off_ instead of studying, and then she thought about how they were always having dreams, both pleasant and unpleasant. What was so different about her? Why couldn't she see the dreams, either? She sized the matter down to the fact that dreams were for imbeciles and that she was above dreaming, but she couldn't help the blossom of doubt that was growing within her.

Soon, this theory, too, became a waste.

_What's wrong with me?_ she thought worriedly, become frantic now. When she suggested her worries to Ron, he shrugged them off—well, of course _he_ would, he was _Ron_, but then when she brought it up to Harry, he laughed and said not to worry, that she didn't want dreams.

But the simple fact was that she did want dreams and she wanted them badly—if there wasn't something wrong with her, then what was it? Why couldn't she dream? Her curiosity demanded to know, but she refused to let her focus slip; the other things going on in her life—like an _evil tyrant_, perhaps—were more important than stupid, frivolous dreams.

So Hermione didn't dream, instead pushing the wish to the back of her mind, and even after calm had settled, she had no dreams to call her own.

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**A/N: **_The word count for this is __**282 words**__. I hope you enjoyed, and please review._


	12. Puzzle

**Puzzle

* * *

**

Severus Snape had always been a mastermind of sorts, figuring out things that even the smartest of his house couldn't, and he prided himself on that fact. He had made countless spells, completed even the hardest of potions, and he was usually the one to come up with the best answer to a problem, no matter how major or minor that problem was.

But there was always one thing he couldn't manage to figure out, something—_someone_, or maybe more than one someone—that managed to confuse him to no end, like an excellently made puzzle—an excellently made, extremely annoying, hard-to-crack puzzle.

But this puzzle was not Lily Evans, not really, but moreover their whole relationship, with the lovely little bonus of _Potter_ and his crew of imbeciles. He had finally found out why she had chosen Potter over himself—she was either extremely vain and chose him for looks, or…she was still that sweet, insightful girl that he had fallen in love with, and she had seen the beast inside the snarky, greasy boy that he tried so hard to suppress, and she had seen something good, something valuable, in James Potter.

On the outside, he was completely convinced that it was the former and nothing else, but he knew that Lily Evans would _always_ be Lily Evans, no matter her surname, and Lily Evans had that odd ability to see someone's soul. She had seen nothing but blackness in his soul, he thought, but what did Potter have? A heart of gold? He snorted at the thought, but really, he knew from eavesdropping on her chatter with her friends that he was undeniably close to the truth.

Snape let an agitated sigh, his head hurting in synch with his heart, and he wondered sadly how he had managed to capture the attention of such a jewel, even if it was only for a short time.

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**A/N: **_I enjoyed this one. :) Though I'm more of a Sirius/Lily shipper than a Severus/Lily shipper…I liked it. Anyway, the word count for this is __**318 words**__. I hope you enjoyed as much as I did, and do drop a review. ;)_


	13. Discrepant

**Discrepant

* * *

**

The man sighed, tweaking his mustache and reading through the newspaper with mock-interest. It had been an average Saturday, to say the least, and he found himself blissfully content and agitated at the same time. He debated walking over to the refrigerator, which was a good few yards away, but then decided not to. He was comfortably sitting in his chair, so why should he have to move? It was only logic.

"Petunia!" he rumbled, his piggish eyes barely flicking up from the paper to acknowledge his wife of several years. "I need a snack." He didn't bother to specify his wants, as Petunia had a delightful habit of knowing exactly which foods he wanted and when. With a somewhat proud smile, Petunia stopped to coo at her baby, Dudley, before bringing out something light for her husband to eat.

Casually looking over the top of his newspaper, Vernon Dursley gazed curiously at his wife—at her slight figure, pale features, and thin stature—and wondered, briefly, how two people like themselves, with a completely discrepant, offhand relationship, made it this far.

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**A/N: **_*hides* Okay. So that was unexplainably short, shorter than usual. But it's a drabble, riiiiight? Yeah…anyway. The word count for this is __**182 words**__, and do review. :)_


	14. Holiday

**Holiday

* * *

**

Black family holidays were not ones to be excited about. Mostly, they consisted of going to some rather dreary town nearby, and then "accidentally" leaving Sirius behind. Sirius would then stare blankly after his fleeing family, and then wander off to the nearest magic facility to get some help.

This time, however, there was a slight holdback. Walburga Black had planned to simply abandon the boy in a shop, and though this was a simple plan, it seemed to work. Sirius was staring, rapt with attention, at a new Quidditch broomstick that was held in a fancy-looking case, and it was obvious from the look in his eyes that he was wondering how many years of saving he would have to go through to purchase the broom.

A wicked smile passed Walburga's lips as she looked at her eldest son, and hurriedly, she tried to usher her family out of the door. Her husband was the first to reach the door, holding it open in a gentlemanlike fashion, but he immediately jumped back and let the door swing close as a Muggle family—no doubt thinking they were in an ordinary sports shop—sauntered by. Walburga rolled her eyes and tugged at her youngest son's hand, urging him towards the door.

Sirius was still drooling over the broomstick.

Regulus Black looked on, sadly, at his older brother, and with a slight glance up at his mother, he planted his fists firmly on his hips and said, "No."

Immediately, Walburga Black pivoted and turned to face the boy. "_What_ did you say?"

"I said 'no'." Regulus said simply, keeping his eyes glued to the floor, now suddenly afraid of his mother, contrary to the brave face he wore only moments before.

"And _why_ did you say this?" Walburga asked tightly.

"I don't know," he mumbled, eyes still downcast. Without further ado, the uptight woman ushered her youngest son out of the store, mumbling profanities under her breath.

And—contrary to popular belief, Sirius was _not_ completely lost in the magnificence of the broom, and perhaps it was him overhearing that one conversation that made it the best "holiday" of his life.

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**A/N: **_So, this was __**360 words**__ and—well. I had no plan, okay? I just started typing whatever I thought of. *sniffles* It's not my fault! *has not convinced anyone* Eh. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed and decide to drop a review, because it gets lonely here. :)_


	15. Mirror

**Mirror

* * *

**

He stared at himself in the full-length, ornately decorated mirror, at his tangled hair and bright eyes, and for a moment, he smirked—some of his father's arrogance was finally beginning to show, it seemed.

But then, in a short flash of terror—red eyes replaced green, the dark hair vanished, and the lips that were previously curved into a smirk fell into a disbelieving frown. He shuffled closer to the mirror, his heart pounding and his breath coming in short, uneven rasps, and then he was so close that his nose was pressed to the cool glass. But it was not his stare that met him; it was the cold, unforgiving, crimson glare of one known as Lord Voldemort.

He gulped, eyes growing wider with each second that passed. He snaked his hand up to touch the face that was present in the mirror, and he found that the pale, bloodless hand of Voldemort did the same, from the other side.

"_Harry!"_ That was Hermione, her voice laced with distress. She had been looking for him, no doubt, and Harry Potter was glad for an excuse to scamper away from the mirror, back into the corridors of Hogwarts.

Even as Hermione jabbered on about the oncoming tests, Harry's mind kept on wandering back to the mirror, or rather—what was contained inside.

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**A/N: **_I've had this idea ever since I saw the prompt, and granted, it didn't exactly turn out as planned, buuuut…it's still good enough, right? Anyway. The word count for this is __**223 words**__, and I would like it if you took the time to review. :)_


	16. Seeking Peace

**Seeking Peace

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**

Xenophilius Lovegood sighed, looking around to make sure that he was the only sign of life present. He was not dressed up in his usual abnormal attire, but instead in some plain pants and a cotton t-shirt with a plaid jacket, clutching a bouquet of flowers in one hand. Anyone familiar with the man would've mistaken him for someone else, he looked so different.

But this was not a matter of fun and games and superstitions; this was a matter of the soul, and Xeno was only intent on bettering his soul, if not repairing it.

He didn't show it, but the departure of his wife left him empty, and that's probably when his strange beliefs reached their maximum. He needed something to distract him from the world, and he knew it was cowardly, but he was alone, with a daughter to care for. He was not looking to boost his social demeanor, but more or less something to keep him going throughout the days. It seemed as if Luna's smiles weren't enough to maintain his good spirits, and so he found that oddities and strange myths were an excellent remedy.

But now, _now_ was a time to come down to reality, a place he had not visited in a long time, and it all seemed to come like a slap in the face as he stared, mournfully, at his wife's grave.

"For you, Anna," he whispered brokenly, dropping the flowers that he forgot he had been holding.

And in that moment, Xenophilius Lovegood knew that, as much as he tried to seek it out, he would never truly have his peace.

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**A/N: **_The word count for this is __**272 words**__. I hope you liked it, and I would appreciate it if you sent a review._


	17. Questioning

**Questioning

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**

They weren't fully loyal to him, and he knew that much. He had never even attempted to gain trust through love and friendship, no, it was always fear that fueled his power. And even as he looked back on their distrusting gazes, he wasn't afraid, for he knew that they wouldn't _dare_ betray him, he was the _Dark Lord_, the one that was allowing them to live their meaningless little lives. And yes, it was frustrating when he had to repeat his orders over and over again, but they were still his followers—no matter how many _looks_ they gave him when they passed or how much they trembled in his presence. None of that mattered.

Voldemort sighed, whipping out his next orders, ones he had drilled into his mind. It was a simple plan, a short one, more bent on taking over small villages than defeating the "great", spineless little Harry Potter. He had originally planned to execute this plan right after the slaying of the Potters, but…needless to say, it got delayed.

"Am I understood?" he growled harshly, eyes narrowing into slits. The problem with easy missions was the fact that he had to work with _imbeciles_, and imbeciles were hard to teach. He was practically hissing the instructions, and they were more concerned with fearing him than listening to him.

And perhaps this was why the former Tom Riddle was in a fury, ignoring the questioning glances that were being thrown at him from every direction: he would never be understood.

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**A/N: **_The word count for this is…__**254 words**__. I hope you enjoyed, and reviews are loved. :)_


	18. Red

**Red

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**

He had picked out the flowers for her funeral, daisies and roses and lilies in all the colors she had loved, all but red. She loved red, loved it dearly so, but he couldn't bring himself to pick out the red carnations that he knew she would've jumped for. Perhaps it was because he was sick, scared of the color red.

_Damn it, _he growled to himself. _Why should I fear a _color_?_

Maybe because all he could see nowadays was red, as it clouded his vision and obscured everything in sight. It made the crimson carnations seem brighter than they really were, and he was sure that any more red would drive him to the brink of insanity. He took a shuddery breath, closing his eyes and trying to calm himself, but he knew it was working, and he didn't want it to happen, but it was going to happen, and maybe it felt good, but—

Aberforth Dumbledore was still seeing red when he punched his older brother in the nose.

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**A/N: **_The word count for this is __**172 words**__, and sure, it was short. But I thought it got the point across, which is the main goal here. Reviews are loved._


	19. Happiness

**Happiness

* * *

**

_They had a son,_ Remus had told him happily. _Named the kid Harry. Looks just like James, he does._

Of course, he refused to believe it—that is, until he met Harry Potter. He was a slightly chubby boy, but he was definitely made of the Potter genes: skinny, wide-eyed, with wind rustled hair.

His eyes, being the emerald green that they were, did not help him, not in the least. If anything, they made the situation so much more painful.

He had always loved her, always, ever since the first time she rejected James, slapped him, and called him a no-good, arrogant prick. Actually, then it was just lust. She was naturally pretty; there was no doubt to why James Potter was interested in her. But after she rejected him, he thought that James would give up and he could make his move.

Except, things didn't exactly work out that way, for James refused to ease up and he was thrown into the job of right-hand-man, _again_. But what could he do? James was his best friend, and that counted for something. It wasn't like Lily Evans would actually _fall_ for James, no, not any time soon—

—she accepted James's dinner invite. And that's when he was thrown into his own personal hell.

He helped plan the wedding, he knew exactly what she would want, yet he got no credit for it, none at all—she only had eyes for his best friend. And yes, it hurt, it hurt like hell, but there was no turning back. He had chosen to be the loyal one, and if that was what he got, then so be it.

But holding their child, the child of his lover and his best friend—it brought upon a sort of rage that he'd never witnessed before. It wasn't enough, was it, to just be the helpless wingman, _no_, they had to have a kid and shove it in his face, oh, he'd show them, the ungrateful little—

Then, looking at the happiness splayed across the faces of the small family, the entire scene in a sort of buttery light, Sirius Black wondered if he really had enough of a monster in him to tear it all apart.

* * *

**A/N:**_ Unhealthy Sirius-obsession alert—no, seriously. :P I'm obsessed with Sirius, as well as Sirius/Lily. So…yeah. The word count for this is __**373 words**__. Read 'n' review, please. _


	20. Family

**Family

* * *

**

He had never seen himself starting a family, being the head of a family, looking after children—he couldn't picture himself in such situations, no matter how hard he tried, and he did try, that was for sure. He wasn't family material.

When he fell in love, well—it was superficial. It always was. He didn't really love her, how could he, he wasn't designed for love, but he had to love _someone_, didn't he? That's what he wanted, and she fit the bill of a typical other half; a worthy half-giantess, he thought, a bit pretty, too. He tried, in vain, to get her to love him back, be it fake or real, and when she showed even the slightest bit of interest—

—his heart did not beat erratically, his spirits did not lift…he was rather normal. But still, he smiled and nodded and acted as if his dreams finally came true.

But, of course, they weren't coming true, they wouldn't come true, and when it finally ended, he was more relieved than anything else, though he didn't let that show.

He never tried to love again. The façade wasn't worth it, not at all. He wouldn't find _her_, and he was beginning to fully realize that.

As he attended wedding after wedding, seeing families grow up, seeing his friends mature and grow old with the permanent smile-lines on their familiar features…Rubeus Hagrid couldn't help but wonder if he needed—no, _wanted_—a family, after all.

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**A/N: **_The word count for this is __**247 words**__. Read and review, please._


	21. Divorce

**Divorce

* * *

**

Sometimes, she wonders why they're together still. They're complete polar opposites, but they still love each other. It's one of those rare things that she simply can't comprehend. And when they scream at each other, late at night, when they think that she's asleep, the only thing that she can think to comfort herself is that they love each other, and if they didn't, they wouldn't be together.

Still, there isn't much for a seven year old to think about these things. Inexperienced in romance and most things other than book-smarts, she cannot comprehend her parents' relationship. Sometimes she will find them screaming at each other over some trivial thing, and other times she will find them snuggling on the couch.

"Why do you fight?" she asks one day, on a whim, only because she is tired of waking up in the middle of the night to screams that shouldn't belong to her parents.

Her mother is silent for some time, and she thinks that perhaps there is no answer, but finally, she gets an explanation. It's an uncomplicated version of the real thing, but it's enough for the young girl.

"Because we love each other."

It's not exactly the answer she is expecting, but then again, who is she to question it? She had seen all those movies—the ones that she had dubbed idiotic and pointless at the time—about how love could be expressed in different ways. And maybe harsh words and random fights is one of those ways.

The seven year old Hermione Granger sits back, her expression satisfied, and never questions her parents' relationship ever again, doesn't suggest divorce to them, because she is sure that she will never get anything other than a variant of that same answer.

* * *

**A/N:** _The word count for this is __**294 words**__. And now I must make up a bunch of drabbles because I was on vacation. :(_


	22. Flying

**Flying

* * *

**

Flying - there's no real adjective to describe the feeling, she thinks. It's a sort of desperation, and while most others would describe the act of flying as freedom, she does not, because it isn't freedom to her.

She lives in a world at war, and wherever she goes, she is reminded of that. Nothing is safe, no one is safe, and she'd rather acknowledge that fact than pretend it doesn't exist, because those who do try to act like nothing is wrong are the ones to go down first. She is not the weak one, she never was and never will be, and so she can't go down, if only to keep that image up.

But flying...she does not fly because she enjoys it and it makes her feel comfortable, but because it allows her to put her need to stay alive in actions; it allows her to show her simple desperation for peace in a different way. She is the only one that knows about the feelings, that _can_ know about them, and that's the way it will always be, even when the war ends.

Ginny Weasley, one of the nimblest and most able players in Hogwarts, is just like everyone else—looking for a way to escape, but she won't go down while doing so.

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**A/N: **_The word count for this is __**218 words**__. And at this point, I love Write or Die._


	23. Drowning

**Drowning

* * *

**

The first time Lily Evans uses her magic, she's at the beach with her family, on one of their traditional vacations. She is unaware of Voldemort, Hogwarts, wizards and witches—she is unaware of anything magical. Her sister still shows her love and her parents don't give her special attention that makes her feel like she has a disease.

Petunia is not in the water, as she is much too picky for that sort of thing and prefers to lie down on a towel and tan herself. However, Lily is wading deeper and deeper into the frothy blue, and no one honestly notices when the red-haired girl is pulled underneath the waves.

At first, she prepares herself to scream, but the noise is caught in her throat. Her eyes are wide open, and she is watching the blues and greens mash together from underneath the surface, the yellow of the sunlight splattering across some places, making them shine. It's a beautiful picture, but the edges of her vision are getting hazier, blacker. Yet, she can't tear her eyes away from the pretty pictures of blue and green and turquoise swirls that paint the ocean.

Suddenly, as fast as it happened, she closes her eyes and breathes, slowly. She feels the salt of the ocean wash over her tongue, and she fails to hide her shock when the water pours out of her mouth, but she gets a burst of satisfaction, of relaxation afterwards. She is breathing underwater, by some unexplainable means, and when she finally pushes herself out of the water to meet the terrified eyes of her family, she smiles and says simply, "I breathed underwater."

Still, she is young, and of course they don't believe her, but as she looks back at the incident, the grown Lily Evans can't help but remember what a wondrous feeling it had been to drown in an ocean of magic and realization.

* * *

**A/N: **_Okay, so this is __**320 words**__. R&R please. ;)_


	24. Bed

**Bed

* * *

**

It's common for people—children and adults alike—to feel safer in the warmth of their bed, where they think that they are protected from the outside world, though they are not. When one is little, they have complete faith that their sheets will hide them from the dangers of the real world, but as they grow up, they start to realize that they are not always safe in their rooms, tucked away. However, that is a conscious thought, and it's the subconscious that rules the dream world, and so one is always secure under the sheets.

This is what Ron Weasley thinks about as he stares at the red canopy of his bed, and though he is dubbed as the dumbest of the Golden Trio, he is actually fairly intelligent...or, at least, he's smart enough to figure out the difference of conscious and subconscious and then apply it to some random thought.

Because he does feel safe, tucked away in his bed, and he knows that it isn't as childish as he makes it seem. Many times he shares this thought with Hermione, who promptly looks him in the eyes and says, "Not everyone feels safe that way, Ronald," and her voice is so un-Hermione-ish and icy that he wonders what he did wrong.

There is a whisper-shout from the bed next to his, and as he looks at Harry flailing in his sheets, obviously suffering from the burden of Voldemort again, he realizes that he truly is immature and selfish for thinking that everyone is safe in bed, and he realizes that there actually is a _war _going on in his life, and those slap-in-the-face understandings are what really breaks him, in the end.

* * *

**A/N: **_My goal for this one: write something that doesn't sound dirty. Yeah, I accomplished that. But the result sucks. x.x Aw, oh well. The word count for this is __**286 words**__. R&R please. _


	25. Balloon

**Balloon

* * *

**

Muggles came up with the strangest things. Little rubbery pockets filled with air, artificially colored and usually attached to strings—yep, Muggles sure did come up with strange, useless items. And then, the name they gave these items, "balloons"…where did they get _that_ from? He sighed and shook his head as he watched a small Muggle family—a mother and a father and a little girl—pay their money for one of those balloons. It truly was a pitiful world.

He shouldn't have even been there; his father would've skinned him alive had he known. But sometimes a guy needed fresh air, and where better to run than London, England, in the middle of some park?

He was losing it, too, apparently.

It took him about five minutes of walking to realize how late it really was and that he had no idea where he actually was, and prideful as he was, asking for directions simply wouldn't do. But as it got darker and darker, the boy began to get a little frightened, as he was only eleven, though he would never, ever admit to this fact.

Normally, in the wizarding world, his mother would buy him some candy behind his father's back; she always did know when he was scared, and instead of telling his father like a good wife, she would do something or the other to comfort him. And that comfort lay inside artificial, yet tasty, pieces of candy.

But there was no one here to comfort him, save for the woman at the balloon stand, and how could someone selling those _things_ be smart enough to give him directions?

However, this is a desperate boy we're talking about. As the young Draco Malfoy strode up to the short, stout lady, asking, "Where can I get to King's Cross station?" because it was the only place he truly knew, he couldn't help but notice how the color of one balloon was the exact shade of his favorite candy. So he did the only thing that came to his mind. As soon as the directions passed her lips, he snagged the balloon and ran for it.

* * *

**A/N: **_The word count for this is __**358 words**__. Read 'n' review, please._


	26. Compressed

**Compressed

* * *

**

She hears what the Cruciatus Curse does to its victims from a couple of seventh years that are walking past the corridor where she resides, and she hears them describe the pain of it—probably looking for sympathy.

_Well,_ she thought indignantly. _They have no right to complain!_

At least the pain ended for them; at least there was a stop to it all. For her, there was no end. It was an ongoing cycle of pain, misery, and downright depression. _She_ never got a break, and in a quick flash of anger and rashness, she wondered why no one _else_ had to suffer. Surely they deserved it more than she did.

Immediately, she chided herself for thinking such things, for they were stupid thoughts, and no one really deserved what she had gotten.

Moaning Myrtle would never really be free, as she was and always will be compressed into the small spectrum that exists between life and death, trapped in her own living nightmare.

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**A/N: **_The word count for this is __**165 words**__. Read 'n' review, please._


	27. Reinvigorated

**Reinvigorated

* * *

**

Both James and Sirius went to the Hospital Wing almost as much as they did their rooms, partially because of Remus's "furry little problem", as James so liked to call it, and partially because of Quidditch.

Actually, usually Sirius would be the one to get hit by a Bludger in Quidditch, and then James would fake an injury so he could get candy from the majority of the female population in Hogwarts. If anyone noticed the odd way the two seemed to get hurt simultaneously, they didn't say anything.

But this was their seventh year, and despite the amount of pain he was in, Sirius couldn't help but be enraged with James. James and his stupid girlfriend Lily Evans, _the _Lily Evans, who would come to visit him in the Hospital Wing and then cover him in kisses and love and all of that other gooey junk. It made Sirius sick, for reasons unknown.

And as she walked in, barely glancing his way, Sirius closed his eyes and pretended to sleep, hearing the rustle of James's bed's curtains opening, and then hush whispers as they talked and probably exchanged lovesick words—words that Sirius did not want to hear.

And he was about to sleep, finally succumbing to the pain, when he felt warm lips brush his cheek alongside the whispered words of, "Get better, Sirius." Despite the bursts of ache that covered his bruised body, Sirius couldn't help but smile, keeping his eyes shut, and soak in the pure bliss and reinvigoration he now felt.

* * *

**A/N: **_Sirius/Lily fluff makes me happy. :) Anyway, this is __**256 words**__. Read 'n' review, please._


	28. Spilt Milk

**Spilt Milk

* * *

**

Being the abnormal, odd outcast of the house definitely had few ups. He was treated more like a housemaid than a son, and honestly? The stupid _house elf_ had more respect than he did. There was something wrong with that picture.

But no matter _what_ happened, even if it was Regulus breaking the chandelier in the foyer while Sirius wasn't even home, the blame always found a way to stick to the eldest Black son.

No matter, Sirius Black did not cry. He used to, when he was younger and didn't understand what he was doing wrong, but as he grew older, he knew how to stop himself from crying, and he knew _exactly_ what was upsetting his mother. This only meant that he knew exactly how to make her mad, and when she beat him, he knew how to put up a good fight.

But eventually, it became too much for the boy, and he would break at the oddest of times, like all the pain he had suffered throughout the years was finally catching up with him.

He never really figured out a way around that, and the one time he heard the quote, "Don't cry over spilt milk," he only had to laugh at its stupidity. A general interpretation of that quote would be not to hold onto the past, but for Sirius Black, crying was the only real way of letting go.

* * *

**A/N: **_This is __**236 words**__, and, of course, Sirius-centered…my goal for the next one is to think of some random character that I may or may not have done already. Read 'n' review, please._


	29. Contempt

**Contempt

* * *

**

She sighed wistfully as she watched her younger sister blabber on about The Boy Who Lived, the famous Harry Potter, the boy that had saved her life not too long ago. And she supposed she should be grateful that her sister was saved, but she couldn't help but be hurt whenever she remembered that _she_ used to be Gabrielle's idol, not Harry Potter.

Then there's the side of her that simply _adores_ the boy legend, the side that hugs him and thanks him and gushes over the incident that may have ended her sister's life—that was the side she showed to the outside world. Even Bill only saw this side, never the other one, but he was the only one that could see the small flickers of rage in her eyes when Gabrielle hugged Harry. That was part of the reason she had chosen him above everyone else.

And try to deny it as she might, Fleur Delacour couldn't completely hide the deep, unexplainable contempt she harbored for Harry Potter.

* * *

**A/N: **_That was __**171 words**__, and I hope you enjoyed. Read and review, please._


	30. Acceptance

**Acceptance

* * *

**

Death is a hard thing to face, even for magical creatures, and perhaps that was why he was so bitter.

He had never really been accepted, no house elves were, but those he had actually loved, the ones that accepted him to some extent, were gone now. They had abandoned him, and try as he might to hate them for it, there was no way he could go against his family, the one that had housed him for years.

But still, there was no such thing as _acceptance_ in his life, and though his family may have had an ounce of respect for him, they wouldn't have left him with the eldest Black son if they truly appreciated him. So he lived with this pain for some time, and even when Sirius Black was in Azkaban, the house elf still belonged to Sirius, and he was forced with that burden.

So when Harry Potter, _the_ Harry Potter, became his master, Kreacher felt something he hadn't felt in a long, long time—acceptance.

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**A/N: **_Word count: __**172 words**__. Read 'n' review, please. :)_


	31. City

**City

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**

She was in a city, and it was a beautiful but dark city—one where she finally questioned something that she had never really thought of before.

She wasn't sure which city it was, she just knew that it was a city, and that she was hopelessly lost there. However—she was less concerned of being mugged and more concerned with what the colorful, spray-painted letters on the cement meant.

'_Mine'…the letters say 'mine'…_

She sighed, eyes shadowed with a sudden grief—not for herself, not for anyone she knew, but for the state of the world.

_So now, even letters are greedy. Is this really what it's all come to?_

There was no mythical creature that could've done this, no one outside of basic human standard that she could blame, for humans had their monstrous moments, too, and fascinating as monsters were, they were still _monsters_—ones that she spent much of her time going after.

But this, this was the act of a different monster, one that she heard of so many times:

Greed.

_I wonder,_ Luna Lovegood thought hazily as she blundered down dark alleyways, her eyes glazed and distant as always, _why they say the city is such an amazing place?

* * *

_

**A/N: **_The word count for this is __**205 words**__. R&R, please. :) (These drabbles are getting shorter and shorter…ah, oh well.)_


	32. Blue

**Blue

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**

The smoke was blue when it finally happened.

It smelled awful, like sulfur, but she paid no attention to it—many of her mother's experiments were the same as that, all colorfully smoked and awful-smelling. She found no need to go check on her, for the experiments always turned out right—_always_, no matter what—but then she was shaken from whatever she was doing by a cry.

"_Luna!"_

Immediately, without thought, no doubt, the young girl rushed upstairs, her hair flying out behind her, but it was no surprise when she dropped to her knees at the smoke—it was suffocating, nauseating, even.

Luna Lovegood didn't hope to save her mother—she was smart enough to realize the impossibility of that—but the guilt was overwhelming as she watched her mother's eyes—ones that matched the smoke perfectly—dim and close, exactly after she murmured a final goodbye.

* * *

**A/N: **_…More Luna centered drabbles. ;) The word count is __**148 words**__. Read 'n' review, please. _


	33. Hear No Evil

**Hear No Evil

* * *

**

"No! _Shut up!_"

"Seriously, we don't need to hear this."

"I was just saying." Hermione seemed perfectly at ease, a book open in her lap, in contrast to the two boys seated across from her.

"Please—_please_—don't say those things. _Please_." Ron was practically begging. Normally, he didn't enjoy acting inferior to Hermione, but…there were some exceptions.

"What?" Hermione asked innocently, though if you looked, you could see the hint of a smirk playing on her lips. "I just said that Snape didn't look half bad when I walked in on him."

The collective groans and retching sounds from Harry and Ron only made her smile wider.

* * *

**A/N: **_Ah, I loved this one, though it makes me sick at the same time and the OOCness is horrible. A bit of Hermione/Snape there for you (my, my, is my love of crack!pairings getting that bad?). The word count is __**108 words**__. Read 'n' review, please._


	34. Heartless

**Heartless

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**

Heartless…it was an odd, unneeded word, in his opinion. Nowadays, everyone thought about The Dark Lord whenever someone mentioned the word.

That wasn't necessarily true, he thought. Maybe the one source of pure evil _did_ have a heart—a hard-to-access, reserved-for-allies heart. Perhaps one had to stay by his side, work for him, in order to be exposed to some sort of kindness from Voldemort.

Sure, to anyone else, the thought of Voldemort having some sort of kindness was purely _absurd_, but to him, it was a worthwhile theory, one that he spent hours lingering on.

"You need to stop thinking about stuff like that," one of his friends, a Gryffindor, surprisingly, had said after he voiced his thoughts. "It'll only lead you to trouble."

Needless to say, Regulus Black didn't stop thinking that perhaps, Voldemort _wasn't_ heartless, and maybe that's why he joined in the first place.

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**A/N: **_Word count: __**148 words**__. Read 'n' review, please. ;) _


	35. Light

**Light

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**

She had never liked the light; it hurt her eyes. She tried to depict "dark" wherever she went, even bothering to color one of her pink frocks black with markers when she was little.

Still, even though they _knew_ she hated anything light, her parents tried to force it upon her, making her wear bright colors and only buying her bright toys. Eventually, it drove her crazy, to the point where she was willing to lock herself in a closet for _hours_ just to escape the light. She would sleep during the day whenever the opportunity presented itself, waking at night to sneak out her window and explore the dark.

She didn't want her children to go to the same stretches she had to reach the dark, but Walburga Black didn't expect one of her sons to reach for the light.

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**A/N: **_The word count is __**141 words**__. Read 'n' review, please._


	36. Obvious

**Obvious

* * *

**

He didn't want it to happen.

That was obvious.

He didn't want for them to die.

That was obvious.

He didn't want to be who he was.

That was obvious.

Some sick part of him actually enjoyed sharing a bit of his soul with his enemy.

That wasn't so obvious.

* * *

**A/N: **_Shortest. Drabble. Ever. __**50 words**__. I'll just go ahead and call this a drablet. But it's basically about Harry, if no one got that. ;)_


	37. Archaic

**Archaic

* * *

**

They are nothing but old, dusty bits of the past, never being forgotten, but never really remembered, either. Their names are recited and memorized, but what power is there in names? They themselves are not remembered—their names are.

And in the end, they are just another witch or wizard or goblin or _whatever_; they are just another part of the crowd. No one really cares for them, no one ever wants to know their personal opinion, it's just their _rights _and _wrongs_, and that's it, because that's all that can be recorded on paper.

Perhaps that's what it feels like to be a part of a textbook, rotting away in ancient misery.

* * *

**A/N: **_Stop looking at me like that. I don't know where it came from, either. Anyway—the word count is __**113 words**__. Reviews are loved. _


	38. Home

**Home

* * *

**

"_Home is where the heart is."_

She guessed that that statement didn't really apply to the dead. If she were where her once-beating heart laid, she'd be six feet under. No, instead, she was stuck in a bathroom.

The thought of her heart being in the girl's lavatory was less than pleasant.

She sat in her stall, pondering this, for there was nothing better to do.

There were hushed voices, seamless whispers. Curious, she poked her head out of the door, surveying the three students that had bothered coming in.

"Go away!" she sniffed, for surely they had come to insult her.

As the black-haired, green-eyed boy of the group mumbled condolences to her, Moaning Myrtle wondered what it would be like to give her heart to that boy—the first one to actually express some _care_. Would he be considered home, then?

With a girlish giggle, she hoped so. She'd be able to stay at his side forever, if she wanted to.

* * *

**A/N: **_Why, yes, I _did_ just slap you all with some Myrtle/Harry romance. ;) The word count is __**163 words**__. Reviews are wanted, loved, and framed. :D_


	39. Fun and Games

**Fun and Games

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**

It was all fun and games until someone got hurt.

Someone got hurt.

Who was to blame?

She was. She was to blame.

How come her chest hurt? That wasn't supposed to happen, was it? Why did she feel so guilty about it? She was a Death Eater; she wasn't supposed to know there was something called _guilt_.

In the end, this was her demise—the guilt.

* * *

It was all fun and games until someone got hurt.

Someone got hurt.

It just got funnier.

He was laughing. He didn't care; he'd given up on caring. There was nothing to care _about_. He had nothing, so in the end, he would make sure that everyone else had _nothing_, too.

This led him to victory.

And that, _that_ is the difference between a good Death Eater and a great one.

* * *

**A/N: **_**138 words**__. I liked this one. ;) Review, please. _


	40. Clothes

**Clothes

* * *

**

On most occasions, she didn't really care for clothes, just throwing on whatever she could find.

She had had a bad feeling about that day, the day the Battle of Hogwarts ensued, and instead of shrugging it off like anyone else would, she took her love of Divination to heart and began to worry.

So, on that same morning, Parvati Patil took her time picking out her clothing, making sure she looked her best. After all, she might as well look nice if she was going to die that day.

This showed just how aware of death the students attending Hogwarts were—

—or perhaps it proved how shallow their true natures are.

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**A/N: **_Word count: __**112 words**__. Review, please._


	41. Servant

**Servant

* * *

**

"I'm just saying that house elves shouldn't be treated this way!" Hermione's cry was indignant, and she was catching the attention of many bystanders. "It's inhuman!"

"Well, they're not really human, now are they?" Ron's words did nothing to placate her.

"Ugh. How would _you_ feel if you were being slaved away like that?"

"Did you ever think that, maybe, they _like _it?"

"You're so _irritating_." She took a deep breath. "I mean, I just feel so bad, watching them waste away like that."

_It's not like they have anything better to do,_ Ron thought bitterly, but with one look at Hermione's face, he decided to keep his musings to himself.

"It's not right!" _Is she still going on about that?_ "I can't even _imagine_ what it's like, being worked like that. The poor things."

Ron sighed. He hated going on patrol with Hermione, this being the main reason. She would not shut up.

Somewhere in between her rant, she ran into one of the sets of armor, making it fall to the floor in a heap. They were near the kitchens, so in a sickly sweet voice, she asked the nearest house elf, "Could you please pick this up for me?"

The elf nodded cheerily, rushing to her aid.

Ron stared on confusedly. _Wasn't she just ranting about civil rights a minute ago?_

Girls…he would never understand them.

* * *

**A/N: **_Random? Yes. Suckish? Yes. But it's all I've got. And, wow, is it over two hundred words? I'm getting better. :P Word count: __**229 words. **__Review, please._


	42. Roots

**Roots

* * *

**

She was desperate, and she knew it. Why else would she be on some Muggle website, looking up her ancestry, when the information probably wasn't even accurate?

Still, she forged on, comparing her family tree to the pureblood tree, looking for a connection that didn't exist.

_Even a distant cousin or _something_ would work,_ she thought, scanning the names over and over again, to the point where she might as well have memorized them.

_This is pointless._ She sighed dejectedly, taking another forlorn glance at the pureblood tree, because the fact was, even after all this time, Hermione Granger ached to have at least _one_ drop of wizard blood in her.

* * *

**A/N: **_Word count: __**111 words**__. Review, please. _


	43. Too Easy

**Too Easy

* * *

**

Sometimes she thought she had it easy.

She had friends, luck, magic—_everything_, and to top it off, she was able to come up with a full-proof defense plan under extreme circumstances. Yes, she definitely had it easy.

Lily Evans didn't realize until the night of her death, the night she knew what it really felt like to be betrayed, that there was a difference between _easy_ and _too easy_.

* * *

**A/N: **_*hides in corner* Uh…that was __**71 words**__. Yes, seventy-one. I can't remember if this is the shortest of my drabbles or not._


End file.
